"I will go to see her!" he said to himself.

Then he remembered.

His horse was worn, he had no money and no suitable clothing.

Then he thought: "I will write." It did not occur to him to telegraph, for he had never done such a thing in his life.
He walked out into the sitting-room, his letters in his hands.
"How far do you call it to Wagon Wheel ?" "About thirty miles, and all up hill." "Will you loan me one of your bronchos ?" "Certain sure, my boy." "I want to ride up there and send a couple of letters." "Better wait till morning," said Reynolds.

"Your letters have waited three years--I reckon they'll keep over night." "That's so," said Mose with a smile.
Sleep came to him swiftly, in spite of his letters, for he was very tired, but he found the room close and oppressive when he arose in the morning.